


For Blue Skies

by izzydragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Internal Conflict, M/M, Post Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzydragon/pseuds/izzydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years.</p><p>Well, technically seven, if you were to count Purgatory, all the lost time, all the time gone away.</p><p>But who was counting, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Blue Skies

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil something for the 'gripped you tight and raised you from perdition' anniversary on this fine 18th September :)

Five years.

Well, technically seven, if you were to count Purgatory, all the lost time, all the time gone away.

But who was counting, right?

This is what Dean contemplated whilst sitting, alone, by the bedside of his dying brother. That on this exact day, however many full-to-bursting years ago, the orbit of Dean’s world began to shift and shake.

Dean shut his eyes with sharp intake of air. His lungs swelled with air, the feeling of it combining with his blood and flowing through his veins a visceral feeling in the silence of the room, pierced at intervals with a steady _beep, beep, beep._

Thoughts, wonderings of why he was even here, what he was doing, filtered through his groggy mind.

He glances dazedly around the room, running his hands slowly down his thighs, unconsciously attempting to soothe himself.

The heavy weight of hopelessness had settled between his ribs, tickled the back of his tongue, grasped at his throat. Like drowning in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight.

Dean’s world was on a collision course, he knew. Something had to give.

It’s been a long time, a long, long time. Green eyes glance out of the window at the far end of the room. Blue skies.

Blue. The colour of the ocean flooding his organs, the colour of his little brothers favorite mug. The colour of deoxygenated lips, dead, rotting, chapped and dry-

 _Stop_. He told himself, squeezing his eyes shut, _pull yourself together_.

If _he_ was here, maybe it would be different. How Dean longed for things to be different. Among all of the hate, the lies, the small smiles and the betrayed, lingering glances. The shielded, glazed, power-crazed look that he wished he could just forget. The recognition. The wonder and reverence, and oh.

The love, goddamnit, the _love_.

Flashing lights, barn doors and wings so large, a heart even larger: not a problem, a gift. The angel with a difference. The broken pieces that would shift and change to cover the cracks in his own, painfully human soul.

Dean had never stopped wanting things to be different. Perhaps on another planet, another world, they would meet, maybe Dean would be the asshole who almost ran him over, or maybe he’d be the dorky neighbour with the dark glint in his eyes, who Dean would go out of his way to get a glimpse of on his way to work every day. Maybe the blue-eyed man would slip him his number after paying for a meal, a smirk on his lips.

But it was all maybe, something that could never be. Was never meant to be, not in this world.

Dean wondered what it would have been like, all of that time they could have spent working on orbiting around each other in sync, as two full, complete bodies. Instead of trying to make one of them masquerade as the moon.

The angel was prideful. A human trait. But from the very moment they met-

_“Who are you?"_

_“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_

_“Yeah, thanks for that.”_

It was there, the whole time. 

In every moment of skewed intentions, every moment of doubt. In every, _“Hello Dean._ ” A palpable thing. Growing, festering, feeding on the things better left unsaid.

That would probably always remain unsaid.

Dean looked over at his dying brother, then back to the blue, blue sky. The colour of his eyes. Cas’ eyes.

Maybe, somewhere, Cas was under the same sky, looking up at it, also wishing things could be different.

But then again, wishing never got anyone anywhere, did it?

Dean smiled.


End file.
